Latimer's Law (19 page)

The richest source of photos of Gary was in Abigail’s room. Marsh remembered where he’d found the wedding album the night before. He grabbed it, still breathing heavily, and took it to his own room, where he sat with it at his small desk, and systematically opened every album page, one after the other.

He used his pocketknife to scrape away Gary’s eyes in every photo.

I’m keeping my eye on you.

I’m keeping my eye on you.

Now Gary would never look at Abigail again. Abigail would belong to Marsh from now on. He’d see to it.

Marsh didn’t notice his own harsh, tearing sobs as he worked. He felt a burning hatred cleansing his soul.

At last he closed the album and put it in a bin beneath his bed. Abigail wouldn’t need to remember her other wedding, because when he found her, they would have one to replace it.

Chapter 12

A
bby lay staring at the dark ceiling of the motel room. Aside from Cade’s breathing, and Mort’s occasional snuffle or snore, the only sound was the intermittent rush of cars on the interstate outside the motel. Though she was tired and half-drunk on the slow ebb of pleasure, she wasn’t ready for sleep. Her mind would not rest, churning with ideas and fears, and even foolish hopes.

She had been away from home for almost two days now, and the terrible compulsion to return was keeping her awake, long after Cade had fallen asleep. A glance to her left showed him sprawled on his back, his naked leg and hip exposed where the tumbled sheet pooled at his side. But even in sleep he kept his scar turned toward the pillow, as if to guard or conceal it. She felt a clenching of pity. He believed himself repulsive, but Abby knew a beast when she saw one, and Cade was not.

Marsh, however... She pressed her lips together and turned resolutely away from the man in bed with her. She refused to keep comparing the two men; it only tore her apart inside by making her doubt her own judgment.

It was harder to turn away from the memories of their lovemaking. Cade’s determination to make that first time last had resulted in nothing short of devastation for Abby. Once he was inside her, moving gently and with great deliberation, he remained supported on his elbows and forearms above her, where he could watch her face. He laced his fingers with hers, pinning her hands to the mattress. She could not touch him, and yet the connection with him was more profound than if they had been in a thrashing, frenzied tangle. His gaze bored into her with each slow stroke, as if he was memorizing every expression crossing her face. He was staring into her eyes when she felt her climax splintering her control, and she could not look away. She couldn’t even blink, much less close her eyes to focus on the sensation of his body entwined with her own. She lay beneath him, biting her lip and shuddering, feeling the hot sparkle of tears in her eyes. Tears of pleasure, tears of joy, tears of something vast and deep that frightened her a little.

It frightened her a lot, actually, because she recognized that feeling of connection.

It felt like love.

Two days was not long enough to have fallen in love, even with a man as unique as Cade Latimer, she told herself firmly.

She slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him, and groped to the window to peer out a tiny slit between the curtain and the wall. The motel parking lot was lit by a couple of halfhearted streetlights. More light came from the all-night convenience store across the road, but aside from one other car in the motel parking lot, there was nothing to see except the pools of light and the darkness beyond. Somewhere out there, Marsh must be searching for her. He wouldn’t sit home patiently waiting for her to turn up.

She shivered and let the curtain close. It would be dawn before much longer, and still she wasn’t sleepy.

In the bed, Cade made a quiet sound, turning onto his side and pulling her empty pillow close to him. Abby bit her lip. Cade had proved to her he found something of worth in her, something more than the sex they’d shared. Even that tiny crumb gave her confidence and boosted her self-esteem, foolish and ephemeral as she knew it must be. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him as he slept.

It wasn’t fair or right for her to drag him any further into her mess with Marsh. She’d slid down that slippery slope by herself, and from here on out she ought to climb out by herself, as well. The sooner she did it, the better, and when better to start than right now, while she felt strong enough to make the decision and stand by it, no matter what Marsh tried to do? There were people she could call in Wildwood, friends she’d left behind because first she had turned to Marsh, and then in her shame had cut herself off from. Judy and Drew would help, and if Marsh was as angry and reactive as she thought he would be, she would call the sheriff. She didn’t want to for the sake of Gary’s memory and the fact that Marsh was Gary’s brother, but she knew Marsh was likely to push her to it.

Sooner was better, and alone was better still. One more gauntlet to run. She just hoped she was up for it.

With a nod, Abby rose and prowled through the dark room to find some clothes. When she was dressed, she went to the dresser and unzipped Cade’s duffel bag as quietly as she could, checking over her shoulder to make sure he was still sleeping. Her fingers slipped inside, seeking the truck keys. Her fingertips brushed over something hard and cold and heavy, and she realized she’d found Cade’s pistol. Her fingers flinched away.

Then they crept back.

* * *

Abby folded the note into a tent, wrote Cade’s name on the front and set it on top of the TV, where he couldn’t miss seeing it when he wakened next. Her fingers were cold with nerves, and they shook as she placed the note and gathered up Cade’s keys as quietly as she could, stifling their metallic jingle. Mort’s head rose alertly at the slight sound, and she stared at him, willing him to settle and be silent as she backed toward the door.

Outside, it was not quite dawn. The morning was humid and sticky-warm on her skin. She closed the motel room door behind her as softly as she could. Though Mort had followed her to the door, he hadn’t tried to go through it, and she couldn’t hear anything from inside now as she pressed her ear to the wood panels. She turned her attention to Cade’s truck, parked only feet away. Silence was critical. Cade’s hyperalertness, cop training and quick responses might bring him out any moment.

The slight slope of the parking lot made her plans simpler. Abby shifted into neutral and released the hand brake, letting the truck roll backward slowly. She would be many yards away from the motel room before she started the engine, and hopefully Cade would keep sleeping.

Her heart stayed in her throat until she eased Cade’s truck up the ramp to the interstate. The rearview was clear, no naked sheriff’s deputy sprinting behind her, enticing as that sight might have been.

All the way south to Wildwood, Abby reviewed her plan obsessively. She would make a telephone call to draw Marsh away from the house. She was sure he’d leave. She’d be able to see him drive past in his Honda from her vantage point at the market and the mask of Cade’s truck. Abby would have almost an hour to grab her important business files, the checkbook, throw some personal things in a bag, and then run.

For her life.

Back to Cade, if he would forgive her just once more. Even if all she did was hand him his keys and watch him drive away forever. She wouldn’t look further than that, not right now. Too much was in the way, and she couldn’t imagine Cade wanting to spend more time with someone whose life was as out of control as hers. But maybe, down the road...maybe someday she could give him a call, invite him to dinner somewhere and see if that could ever lead to more.

Abby shook her head to clear it. She had to keep her eyes on the road and her mind on the tasks at hand. She couldn’t see anything in the plan that would trip her up. The most important part was to be gone before Marsh got back.

Oh, how much Marsh and his fists had taught her about planning for every least contingency.

She reached the exit where the whole insane, terrifying but wonderful adventure had begun and parked the truck near the pay phone at the convenience store. Again she reviewed the plan: call Marsh, tell him she was at an all-night diner in Ocala and needed him to come and pick her up. She wouldn’t have to fake panic or tears in her voice—both would be only too real. Abby felt herself shaking, her bowels cramping with tension and dread, her heart pounding out her fear.

She got out of the truck and walked the ten feet to the telephone. It was misery to fumble change from her pocket, and worse to lift the receiver, insert coins into the slot and dial her own number. Her hand shook so hard she could barely keep a grip on the receiver.
Please make him believe me. Don’t let him see the number’s here in town. Let him answer the old phone in the kitchen that doesn’t have caller ID.

“Hello?”

“M-M-Marsh?” She’d been right: no need to fake her reaction. His voice went through her gauzy composure like an eighteen-wheeler through a flimsy wooden fence. The shaking grew worse, and only by leaning against the small shelter of the phone could she suppress her involuntary movements. She hated how much control he had over her. But at least now she understood what he’d done to her. All she had to do was not let the insidious fingers of her own inadequacy pry at her resolve.

“
Abigail.
Where the hell have you been?”

How different her name sounded on Marsh’s lips than on Cade’s. It made her shudder. She tried to quiet her breathing enough to speak. “I...I...want to come home. Will you—”

“Where are you, you stupid fool? Do you know what I’ve been through? I almost called the cops!”

Oh, but you didn’t, and Cade told me you wouldn’t. You can’t afford for someone else to see my bruises.
“I’m...I’m at the Good Eatin’ Diner in Silver Springs.” She named a small town outside of Ocala. Maybe morning rush hour would delay him.

“You stay put. I’m coming for you.”

I’m coming for you.
The simultaneous terror and relief she felt at hearing this made her knees weak. She had gotten him out of the house. Her plan would work. “What about our day care clients?”

“I had to close it when you didn’t come home, or didn’t you even bother to think about that before you left? Can’t run the place by myself. I told the agencies you’re really sick. You’ve put us in a bad place, a really bad place. I had to lie to cover up what you’ve done. I made a ton of phone calls the past two days to some angry and upset families.”

The receiver shook in her hand. The house would be completely empty. She wouldn’t have to face the clients, or feel responsible for them, try to explain where she’d been for two days. “I’m sorry. I...know it was wrong. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Where exactly are you?”

“At the pay phone outside in the parking lot.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

“Right. You stay put. I’ll be there in a half hour. And—Abigail—I don’t have to tell you how relieved I am to hear from you, do I, sweetheart?”

The antelope knows lions do not purr when they’re hunting. Abby felt the tears spurt hotly from her eyes, so salty they stung her cheeks. “You don’t have to tell me, Marsh.” Never before had she fully understood what his love-words actually meant. She had always been confounded by how he could speak with such sincere gentleness and then raise his hand to her. Now she realized the sweet words were meant to put her off guard and make her grateful for his kindness, even as she felt guilt at making him so angry he must punish her.

“Good. I’m glad you understand. Now sit tight. Go back inside the diner. I’m leaving right now.”

Abby hung up, and such was her fear that she all but sprinted away from the telephone to lock herself in the shelter of Cade’s truck. Logically she knew Marsh couldn’t see her from the house several blocks away, and it would be a couple of minutes before he’d drive past the market, but she couldn’t help it. She huddled on the bench seat and peered out the back window through the camper shell’s tinted glass and film of dust. It would be enough to camouflage her.

She was unprepared for the violent stab of hatred and fear that went through her when Marsh’s silver Honda—moving far too quickly for the road—went past the market. She stared after him even after the car was out of sight, before she realized she was wasting precious seconds. There was a lot to do at the house, and little time to do it before he returned, enraged by her deception. By then she had to be long gone.

When she pulled into the driveway, the house looked somehow small and unfamiliar.
But nothing’s changed, except maybe me.
She wiped at the tears, slid out of the truck and pocketed the keys. Then she leaned across the seat and opened the glove box.

Cade’s gun waited inside, right where she’d put it.

I won’t need it. Marsh isn’t here.

She looked at it for a long moment.

I won’t need it. I can leave it in the truck.

She took the grip in her hand.

I won’t need it.
She nodded to herself and tucked the pistol into the back waistband of her jeans—
Cade’s jeans,
she thought, with a tiny bursting warmth and a surge of confidence. She pulled the hem of Cade’s shirt over it.

Marsh had left the front door unlocked in his haste, though he’d taped a hand-lettered sign to the door: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO ILLNESS. Abby stared at the sign for a moment, thinking of the day she and Gary had welcomed their first client over the threshold. The day care had been the culmination of Gary’s social worker training, his wish to help others. Abby locked the door behind her and went quickly to her bedroom to get a tote bag to carry the most critical business files, and fill another with enough clothes to last for several days.

Her bedroom was a disaster. It was easy to see where Marsh had vented his rage at her disappearance. The pillows were torn and scattered, pictures yanked from the walls and some of the glass broken. Her bedding was flung everywhere, and worst of all, her lingerie was strewn over the mattress. When she stepped near for a closer look, she saw the stains of his sexual excitement dried or drying on the soft fabrics. From the look of things, Marsh had been back more than once to relieve his frustration and mark her most intimate clothing.

All over the bed she and Gary had shared.

With a moan, she raced for the bathroom and was just in time to be sick in the toilet. She shook and sobbed, flushing twice. Cade’s gun was ominously cold and heavy in the small of her back. Finally there seemed to be nothing left inside her, and she rinsed out her mouth and spat, flushing one last time. If she’d needed a bigger two-by-four to hit her over the head and make her leave, she’d certainly found it.

Gritting her teeth, she returned to the bedroom, yanked open her closet, snatched two tote bags and filled one with socks, jeans, shirts and shoes before topping it off with sundries from the bathroom. She left the underwear—she’d have to buy more somewhere. She couldn’t wear hers, not after what Marsh had done to them. Then she stomped into the little office—hardly more than a closet—and began grabbing business files from the day care. She unplugged the computer from the wall and coiled up all its cables. The whole thing must come with her—there wasn’t time to decide which electronic files to keep and which to leave. She carried it out piece by piece and put it in the back of Cade’s truck, protected in bright afghans from the backs of the sofas and armchairs.