Out of the Dark (3 page)

Now it was Jade who stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I met her years ago, when she lived in St. Louis. Her name…was…Margaret Cochrane. She—”

Jade turned abruptly, suddenly terrified of hearing more.

“If she wants the painting, sell it,” she told Raphael, and started to walk away.

“How much?” Shelly called.

“Five hundred dollars,” Jade yelled, and then disappeared behind the booth, certain that the woman would be unwilling to pay such an exorbitant price.

But she’d underestimated Shelly’s determination to bring back some sort of closure for Sam.

Shelly started digging through her purse. “Will you take a check?”

Raphael shook his head. “No. Cash only,” he said, and then frowned when he realized the other woman had been taking pictures of them. “No more,” he said, holding up his hand.

“Sorry,” Deb said, and grinned. “Has anyone told you that you’re very photogenic?”

Raphael stifled a curse. His looks were what had gotten him into Solomon’s hell.

“Five hundred dollars, take it or leave it,” he said, wishing they would leave so he could check on Jade.

“I’ve only got three hundred and forty-two dollars cash,” Shelly muttered, as she spread the bills out onto the table.

“Here,” Deb said. “I think I’ve got enough to make up the difference. You can pay me back later.”

To Raphael’s dismay, the women came up with the money. He had no choice but to hand over the canvas.

“The woman in the painting…did you know her?” Shelly asked.

“Why would I know her?” Raphael asked. “You heard what she told you. The woman has been dead for years.”

“Yes, right,” Shelly said. “I was just hoping. She ran away from her family and—”

“Raphael!”

He turned abruptly. The panic in Jade’s voice was obvious.

“Got to go,” he said shortly, leaving Shelly with more questions than answers.

“Come on, Deb,” Shelly said. “Let’s get this to the car, then call the guys. Paul is going to be stunned by what I found.”

They walked away with their find as Raphael discovered Jade packing up her things.

“Call a cab,” she said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“But, honey, those people might know if you have any other family.”

Jade couldn’t focus on anything but running. “We don’t know anything of the sort,” she muttered. “What if she ran into Ivy again while she was with the People? She would think Solomon was my family.” Then she shuddered and clutched Raphael by the arms. “We can’t let him find us. We just can’t.”

“Don’t panic, baby…don’t panic. It’s okay.” Then he took her in his arms, holding her tight as a wave of trembling shook her body. “Hell, for all we know, Solomon is dead and gone.”

T
he sun was setting by the time Jade and Raphael got back to their apartment, but her panic had not subsided. The woman who’d purchased the painting of Ivy had started a chain reaction of fear. All Jade could think about was getting away—running, as they had so often in the past. Because of the life they’d lived with Solomon, neither Jade nor Raphael had ever gone a day to a regular school. Thanks to an ex-teacher who’d abdicated responsibility for the People of Joy and taken it upon himself to teach the children who’d gotten caught up in Solomon’s web, they were remarkably well read and competent in basic mathematics, but their real skills lay in keeping themselves alive and fed. There was nothing they could put on a job application that would get them hired, and not a high school diploma between them. With no responsibility to anything or anyone but each other, they moved often on little more than a whim.

But tonight it was more than a whim that had Jade stuffing her meager assortment of clothes into her bag. Raphael knew Jade had been rattled by the woman’s appearance, and, like Jade, didn’t know what to make of it, or of her. If the woman had only known Jade’s mother after she called herself Ivy, then she would have had no way of knowing her real name, yet she’d claimed the painting was of a woman named Margaret Cochrane who had lived in St. Louis, Missouri.

Raphael’s first urge had been to check out the claim. What if the possibility existed that Jade’s father was still alive? What if he’d spent all these years searching for his daughter? Reuniting Jade with her family would be the answer to Raphael’s dilemma, but he knew Jade, and she wasn’t in the mood to be reasoned with. Not now. Not yet. He would let her get the panic out of her system, then talk to her about it later, so now he sat on the side of the bed, watching Jade run from the dresser to the closet and back again, packing to leave.

“Don’t you think we should at least wait until daylight to run?”

The sarcasm in his voice angered Jade. She turned on him, her dark eyebrows knitting across her forehead.

“Did I say I was leaving right now? No! I don’t think so. But I’m by God going to be ready when daylight comes tomorrow.”

Raphael held out his hand, then threaded his fingers through hers, gentling her with a touch.

“Honey…I don’t think that woman poses any danger.”

Jade slumped onto his lap and then curled her arms around Raphael’s neck, resting her face against the curve of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Don’t be mad at me, Rafie…. I can’t bear it when you’re mad.”

He rubbed his hand up and down the middle of her back as he rocked her where they sat.

“I’m not mad, baby…just worried. We can’t run forever.”

Jade lifted her head, her eyes wide with fear.

“Yes, we can, Rafie. We have to. I can’t go back to that life. I’d rather die.”

Raphael’s eyes filled with tears. His little Jade had grown up to be a magnificent woman, but inside she was still that frightened and tortured little girl.

“That’s not going to happen, honey. And you know why?”

Her voice was shaky as she leaned back to meet his gaze.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not that same helpless little girl. You’re not only a full-grown woman, you’re a survivor. If you have to, you could do anything…even take care of yourself.”

She shuddered, then hugged him again. “But I don’t have to, do I, Rafie? Not as long as I have you.”

Raphael sighed, then hugged her close. “Yes, you’re right, honey. Not as long as you have me. So where do you want to go?”

“We’ve never been to New Orleans. I’ve always wanted to see the French Quarter…maybe eat some crawfish and dance to some Cajun music. And it would be a perfect place to paint. What do you think?”

He tilted her chin up until they were looking eye to eye. “Wherever you go, I will follow.”

Jade stared back, seeing her own reflection in his pupils.

“Rafie?”

“What?”

“Do you ever feel like I’m in your way?”

He frowned. “What makes you say such a crazy thing?”

She shrugged. “You know…you’re so beautiful, and I see the way women stare at you. That woman today who was taking our pictures, even she mentioned your looks. Do you ever feel like pursuing a relationship with any of them?”

His face stilled; then she watched his eyes fill with what appeared to be great sadness and regret.

“No. Maybe it has something to do with what I went through as a kid. How about you? Do you ever feel anything when you see a good-looking man?”

She shivered. “Sometimes I wonder, but then I remember, and I put it out of my mind.”

“They aren’t all like that, you know. They don’t all want to hurt you.”

Jade’s lower lip trembled. “But how do you tell them apart? How would I separate a good man from the others?”

“I don’t know honey…but I think that you’d know it in here.” He put his hand over her heart. “It’s something called trust.”

“I trust you,” she said.

“And I trust you, but you’re like my sister. I could never think of you that way.”

Jade grimaced. “Me, either. I didn’t mean it that way. I only—”

He pinched her nose in a teasing fashion. “I know. I know. I was just teasing you.” Then he gave her a big hug. “Go take a shower and get ready for bed while I pack my stuff. That way we can get an early start tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said, and jumped up from the bed. She opened the closet, got down on her knees, then pulled a small box from the depths.

“What’s that?” Raphael asked.

Once again she got that look on her face that reminded him of a helpless child. She clutched the box close to her chest, her voice trembling as she suddenly looked away.

“It’s the faces. I can’t forget them.”

He sighed. “Maybe you should.”

All the helplessness vanished from her persona as she angrily turned on him.

“Can you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “God knows I try.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with hate.

“I don’t! I won’t!” Then she took a deep breath and shoved the box in the bottom of her bag, her anger vanishing as swiftly as it had come. “I can’t,” she added, and walked into the bathroom.

As soon as she closed the door, he dropped his head in his hands, stifling the urge to scream.

God in heaven, help me get through this without coming undone.

When he heard the shower beginning to run, he stifled a sigh and pulled his suitcase from beneath the bed, took out the last of his pills and tossed them down his throat. Tomorrow they would be on the run. Again. Would this ever end?

At sixty, Sam Cochrane was still a striking man. He had a full head of steel-gray hair and a commanding presence that went well with the man he’d become. During the past twenty years, he’d become one of St. Louis’s leading citizens, amassing his wealth through wise investments and a successful law practice, although he’d retired from the court just last year. While he took pride in his accomplishments, he would have traded it all to have a second chance with the wife and daughter he’d lost. For ten years after they had disappeared, he’d spent every spare dime he could muster, hiring one private investigator after another to search for them, but with no success. Finally he’d given up the quest in hopes that one day Jade would come looking for him, which explained why, despite his wealth and status, he was still living in the same location. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of them, refusing to accept the notion that they could be dead. Then Paul and Shelly Hudson came back from California.

It was three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon when Sam Cochrane’s doorbell began to chime. Normally Velma Shaffer, the housekeeper who’d been with him for the past ten years, would have been on the job to answer the door, but her daughter had gone into labor on Friday, presenting Velma with her first grandchild, and Sam had given her the week off.

He hadn’t been expecting company and frowned at the interruption as he put down the book he’d been reading, marking his place with a piece of junk mail he had yet to discard, and started toward the front door. The library was some distance from the entryway, and by the time he got there, the chimes had rung another two times.

His frown deepened, but his disapproval quickly turned to delight when he saw Paul and Shelly on the doorstep.

“Hey, you two! Come in! Come in! I thought you were still in California.”

They hurried inside, carrying what appeared to be a large framed painting between them.

“What do you have there?” Sam asked.

Shelly bit her lower lip, searching for a way to explain.

“Just show him,” Paul said.

Shelly took a deep breath, slowly turning the painting around until it was facing Sam.

The smile on Sam’s face stilled as the breath caught in the back of his throat. His vision blurred. His hands started to shake.

“Oh God…oh God…where did you get it?”

“A street fair in San Francisco.”

“Was she there? Did you see her?”

“No, Sam, she wasn’t there.”

The brief moment of hope that he’d felt faded. But to see her face, after all these years, was staggering. He moved toward the painting, putting the palm of his hand against the face on the canvas, then tracing the shape of her eyebrows and the curve of her cheek.

“Maggie…my Maggie.”

Then he looked up. Shelly’s eyes were filled with tears.

His stomach dropped.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Paul reached for his friend, clasping a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Shelly was stunned when she saw it. She told the artist that she had known the subject years ago and told her that her name was Margaret Cochrane. The artist said it was a woman who called herself Ivy.”

Sam frowned. “Are you saying that this isn’t Margaret?”

“No, what I’m saying is exactly what Shelly was told.”

Sam looked at Shelly. “What else were you told?”

Shelly hesitated.

“Talk to me,” Sam said. “You can’t bring this to me now, not after all this time, and then not tell me everything you know.”

Shelly braced herself, hating to be the one to say the words that were going to hurt their friend.

“Sam, I’m sorry, but she also told us that the woman in the painting was dead.”

It wasn’t as if the thought had never gone through his mind, but hearing the words said aloud was like a knife through Sam’s heart.

“No,” he said, then looked back down at the painting and at the pensive smile on his young wife’s face. “Not dead. Please, God, not dead.”

“It’s what the artist told us.”

But Sam needed a lifeline. “What if he was lying? What if he just told you that to hide Margaret’s real location?” He looked at the painting, searching for a signature, but there was nothing but an odd colored smudge in the bottom right hand corner that looked like a fingerprint.

“The artist was a woman. She didn’t seem as if she was trying to hide anything. In fact, she seemed rather matter-of-fact about the subject.”

“I need to talk to her,” Sam said. “Did you get her name?”

Shelly’s shoulders slumped. “No. I’m sorry. I was so excited to see the painting…then they would only take cash, and my girlfriend and I were busy counting out the money we had between us. The artist walked away, leaving the man who was with her to collect our money.”

“Damn it,” Sam muttered. “I can’t leave it like this…not after all this time.”

Shelly looked at Sam, then started to cry.

“I don’t know why I thought this would be a good thing. All I’ve done is make you miserable. Can you ever forgive me?”

Suddenly Sam realized what he’d done. Shelly and Paul had brought him a gift beyond words, and instead of being grateful for the only clue he’d had to his wife’s disappearance in the past twenty years, he’d been thoughtless—even cruel. He swiped his palm across his face and then held out his hands.

“No. No, it’s I who should be asking your forgiveness. I’m sorry for reacting so badly, but this caught me by surprise.”

“It’s okay,” Shelly said. “We should have warned you instead of just showing up like this, but I was so excited and then—”

“And so am I,” Sam said, interrupting her before she could finish. “I’m also ashamed of my behavior.” He held out his arms. Shelly walked into his embrace as he gave her a hug. “Forgive me?”

“Of course,” she said. “And the painting is yours to do with as you choose.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

He took the painting and set it down, hesitating briefly before turning its face to the wall. “Now come inside and tell me about your trip.”

The couple led the way into the living room, with Sam following behind. They didn’t see him stop and glance back into the hallway or see the wave of despair cross his face. It wasn’t until later, when they finally took their leave, that Sam was able to let go of the emotions he’d been trying to suppress. He took the painting into the library where he’d been reading, took down an original Wyeth that had been hanging over the sideboard and hung the painting of the woman named Ivy in its place.