Don't Tell (42 page)

„You’re out of line, Dana.“

„No, I’m not. Because this whole bigamy thing is too convenient. It’s a way to keep yourself from getting hurt. It’s the way to leave yourself an escape hatch. Don’t shake your head and tell me no, Caroline. I’m right and you know it. If you don’t tie a legal knot with Max and if things don’t work out you can run away, just like you ran from Rob and Mary Grace. Just like you’ve run from any serious relationship since the day I met you.“

Caroline felt her body tremble as Dana’s words sliced deep. As her betrayal sliced even deeper. Dana had been her rock, her support The only one to believe in her. And now… And now… She was numb, her mind unable, unwilling to process another thought. Her eyes hurt, her face stung. Her heart… She couldn’t even feel it anymore.

„Go away, Dana,“ she said wearily. „Just shut up and go away.“

Dana smacked the steering wheel. „Fine, Caroline. I’ll shut up and go away. That way I won’t have to sit back and watch you throw away a perfectly legitimate chance for happiness.“ Dana blew out an angry, frustrated sigh. „Close the door, Caroline. Go on up to your apartment and hide from your fear all alone. Be morally superior all alone. Enjoy it while it lasts. And you’d better damn well pray Max still wants you back when you come to your senses.“

Stunned, Caroline stared. „I am not morally superior.“

Dana’s brows lifted in sarcastic amazement. „Oh, yes you are. You judge and condemn every woman at Hanover House who goes back to her husband.“

Caroline’s eyes narrowed through her seemingly endless tears. „They’re weak.“

Dana shook her head. „They’re human. They’re afraid. They’re not you. You judged Max for not wanting to go back to a basketball game because it hurt him.“

Caroline shook her head, unable to understand the accusations coming from the woman she’d trusted above all others. „He was blaming everybody else for his problems, making everyone around him suffer because of something he couldn’t control. He was living in the past.“

Dana seemed to settle, even though she didn’t move a muscle. „And you’re not?“

Blessed anger erupted. „No!“

Dana sighed and put her car in drive. „Fine, then. See you later, Mary Grace. Close my door please.“ She looked over pointedly. „Mary Grace.“

„Don’t call me that,“ Caroline gritted through clenched teeth, looking around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear.

Dana sighed again, a great dramatic exhalation of wind. „Why? Because the big bad husband might be lurking in the bushes? Give it up. He’s not coming for you. You can go back to calling yourself Mary Grace Winters, victim extraordinaire.“ She bit her lip and it was then Caroline saw the tears welling in Dana’s eyes. „Because you’re sure as hell not the woman I thought I knew. She wouldn’t have hurt someone she loved like you just hurt Max Hunter. You’re not Caroline.“ She blinked, sending tears down her face. „So close the door, Mary Grace. I need to go home.“

Seething, Caroline slammed the car door and watched Dana drive away.

„I am not morally superior,“ she muttered to the empty street. „I’m not.“

Seething and crying, she climbed the stairs to her apartment and opened the door. Her coat landed on the sofa, her purse on the chair. Her keys jangled when she threw them across the kitchen, landing in a noisy heap in the corner behind the cookie jar. She opened the refrigerator, then closed it again when the mere sight of food made her stomach churn.

Leaning her forehead against the cool refrigerator, she closed her eyes and whispered, „I’m not running away.“ Was she? Was that „whole bigamy thing“ simply smoke and mirrors? Had she ever cared two figs for the North Carolina legal system? No. The answer to that question was definitely no. She looked around her kitchen, seeing bread crumbs on the counter, a knife in the sink, remnants of the last sandwich Tom had gulped before leaving on his camping trip. Her son was healthy, strong, well-fed. And safe. Dana was right. He was safe because she’d ignored the thought of the fraud involved in obtaining his birth certificate, his social security number. Everything else was inconsequential when compared to keeping her son safe. Including the law.

She was glad Tom hadn’t seen her this way even as she missed the comfort she knew he’d loyally provide. It made her feel guilty, her dependence on Tom, the weight she’d placed on his shoulders all these years. She sniffled, trying to clear the congestion in her head, to no avail. With a deep sigh, she made her way back to the bathroom, hoping a hot washrag would do the trick.

She pushed open the bathroom door and braced her hands on the sink, letting her head hang low. She’d hurt him. She’d cut Max to the soul. She’d seen it in his eyes. And Dana’s words began to penetrate her mind. Had she been trying to run away?

She turned on the hot water until steam rose from the faucet, then wet a washcloth and draped it over her face. It helped. The pain behind her eyes seemed to decrease a little, allowing her to think just a bit more clearly. She lowered the washcloth and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The woman that stared back was familiar to her although it had been years since they’d been well acquainted. The woman that stared back had cried often in the old days. In the days of burns and breaks and bruises. Before she’d run away.

She was still running away. Here in the quiet of her own apartment, she could admit it. She was running because she was afraid. Not of Max. Never of Max. But she was afraid just the same. And she had wounded the very man she claimed to love. Letting the sigh come she covered her face with the cloth. It was still warm. She sniffled. Her nose was opening just a little. Although her eyes still throbbed, they felt less like she’d gone five rounds with the champ. Or with Rob.

She took the washcloth off her face and breathed deeply. And her body ceased to move.

She smelled… him. Rob. That overpowering smell of his aftershave. She shook herself, stared at her red face in the mirror and grimaced, trying to force her irrational fears from her mind. Don’t be silly, she told her reflection. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, she thought. Just that you‘ve been reliving every horrible day with him since you found St. Joseph in pieces. Dana said he’s never coming back and she’s always right, fathead though she might be.

„Calm down,“ she murmured aloud and ran the washcloth under the hot water once again. She pressed the hot cloth to her face, feeling throbbing behind her eyes reduce just a bit more.

St. Joseph in pieces. Something had been nagging at her since she’d found the broken statue the day before. Max said Bubba the cat had knocked the statue off the nightstand, but that was impossible. She’d let Bubba out before leaving with Max. Hadn’t she?

She breathed deeply again, willing her thundering heart to calm down.

And froze, the breath she’d drawn trapped in her lungs. She felt her stomach clench, felt every muscle in her body go painfully rigid.

Smoke.

Oh my God. Her stomach heaved and she choked the bile back down.

Cigarette smoke.

Slowly she lowered the cloth and stared.

Dana was wrong this time, she thought, her eyes locked on the reflection that now smiled back at her. He filled the width of the bathroom door, the top of his head not even visible in the mirror. He leaned against the doorjamb as if he’d lived in her apartment all his life. One large hand raised to his mouth, a cigarette between his fingers.

Paralyzed, she watched the smoke rise from the red tip of the cigarette, waft lazily to the ceiling. A memory flashed before her eyes. He’d use it on her. He had before. The red tip would hurt. The acrid smell of burning flesh would combine with the stale smell of the cigarette smoke. And it would hurt. Numb, she watched as the smoke continued to rise.

He dragged on the cigarette and blew the smoke so that it formed a cloud around her head. He smiled, his lips baring yellow teeth. She’d seen them in her nightmares, fangs dripping with blood.

His smile widened into a grin, his eyes so calculatingly evil that she found herself mesmerized. Eyes of a cobra, she thought. Ready to strike.

„Honey, I’m home,“ he sang cheerfully. „What’s for supper?“

Chicago

Sunday, March 18

Noon

Dana leaned her head against her apartment door, fatigue finally overtaking her body. The energy generated by anger only lasted a little while and her anger with Caroline had dissipated to mere frustration somewhere between the street in front of her apartment and the top of the third flight of stairs. By the time she’d gotten to the landing on the sixth floor, she just didn’t even care anymore. She shook her head, pivoting her forehead against the steel door. The memory of Max Hunter’s anguished eyes made her shoulders sag. Caroline was a fool. And selfish. And maybe just a little bit cruel. She’d always known Caroline was stubborn. She’d respected it, played on it, egged it on, for over the years it had been the tool to keep Caro going, reaching for her dreams.

But today… Dana shook her head again and fumbled with her keys. Today that stubbornness had ceased to be a tool and had become a weapon. She rested her hand on the doorknob as she slid her key into the first keyhole and frowned when the knob turned easily. A spurt of annoyance gave her the fuel to propel her body inside her apartment.

„Evie!“ she shouted, hearing the edge in her voice and not giving a damn. „You forgot to lock the door – again!“ Dana slammed the door shut and quickly applied the chain and twisted the three deadbolts, the succession of falling hammers providing her with a margin of safety. On her salary she couldn’t afford an apartment in any neighborhood resembling safe. Only me chain, three dead bolts, a good relationship with the local cops and the small revolver she kept under her mattress made her feel truly safe.

Evie hadn’t answered. Dana glanced at her watch. That girl would sleep past noon if nobody woke her up. Unbuttoning her coat as she walked, Dana made her way to the back bedroom.

„Dammit, Evie, wake up. You’ll sleep your life – “

The words dried up as Dana surveyed the wreckage in the room.

„ – away,“ she whispered. „Oh, no, oh, no. Oh, God, Evie.“ She dropped to her knees beside the bed, one hand reaching for the girl’s throat, the other for the phone. The fingers of her right hand punched 911 as the fingers of her left desperately tried to detect a pulse under the twine wrapped around Evie’s neck.

Asheville

Sunday, March 18

12:30 RM.

The bullpen was pretty quiet, comparatively. Quieter than a weekday. And definitely quieter than the group of scandal-hungry reporters that had gathered for the press conference in the auditorium of Asheville’s City Hall. Steven looked across the room to find Lambert intensely focused on typing at his computer, headphones covering his ears. When Steven approached, the headphones came off and Lambert looked up with a grimace.

„Transcribing the tap on Winters’s home phone,“ he explained.

„Anything?“

Lambert shook his head and grabbed a cup of coffee from the comer of his impeccably ordered desk. He swallowed, then grimaced again and spit it back in the cup. „Ugh. God. The only way to make our coffee worse is to drink it cold. I’ve got a few calls, mostly telemarketers. Sue Ann did call her OBGYN, though. Made an appointment for a pre-natal visit.“ Lambert dragged his fingertips down his face and stretched his back. He gestured to an empty chair. „I hate transcribing. Gives me a hell of a headache. Have you heard from Spinnelli?“

Sitting, Steven shook his head. „Nothing new. He sent another cruiser by this morning, early, but Caroline Stewart still wasn’t home. He’s left a few messages on her machine, but she hasn’t returned them. Any news from the autopsy on the boy?“

Lambert seemed to sag in his chair. „Toni says the ME is ninety-eight percent sure the hair from Winters’s boots belonged to the boy. I knew it would, y’know?“

„But you hoped it wouldn’t.“

„I really hoped it wouldn’t.“ Lambert looked away, staring at the wall map. „Do you have any idea what it’s like to work with a man for fifteen years then find out he’s a monster?“

Steven considered it. He did, but not in the same way Lambert was facing. Not wanting to think about his own personal monster, he got up and poured two cups of coffee, then returned to Lambert’s desk and handed him one.

Lambert flashed a grateful smile. „Thanks.“ He hesitated. „And thanks for encouraging Toni the other day. It’s what she needed to hear.“

Steven shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. „It was the truth.“

„Still. Thanks.“ Another uncomfortable moment of silence stretched between them, then Lambert straightened in his chair and ran his hand through his golden hair. Mussing it. Steven bit back a smile. Even mussed the man could pose for GQ, but somehow that no longer made him less of a cop. „Did Spinnelli have a policewoman call Caroline Stewart?“ Lambert asked abruptly.

„I don’t know,“ Steven answered, kicking himself for not thinking of this already. „Assuming she is Mary Grace, a male cop might be intimidating, considering everything she went through with Winters. If she’s home, she might not even open the door. Also, if Spinnelli hasn’t been specific about why he wants her to call him, she might not return a phone call from the Chicago PD.“

„Have Toni call,“ Lambert suggested, then grinned. „She can talk sweet when she wants to.“

„When she wants to what?“ Toni asked from behind them and Steven turned to find her dressed in a conservative black suit. It was showtime for the press.

„When the press conference is done, I’d like you to call Caroline Stewart’s apartment,“ Steven said. „She may respond to you when she’d run from a male cop.“

„I will. For now we have a meeting with a pack of hungry piranha.“ She looked over at Lambert and one corner of her mouth tilted up. „Comb your hair, Jonathan. It’s time to face the music.“ She glanced up at Steven as Lambert pulled a comb from his desk drawer. „Thanks for coming, Steven. This press conference is about the assault on the boy, but Mary Grace will likely come up.“

Steven patted her shoulder gamely. He hated press conferences almost as much as blind dates. „I couldn’t let you have all the glory, Toni. That just wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do.“