Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (31 page)

Thank God!
What Emmett had done was terribly, terribly wrong, and there had to be some penalty to pay. But the thought of his spending the rest of his life in state prison was more than she could bear.

“And?”

“And as far as any civil suit is concerned, even if the Cruzes decide to bring one, you can't get blood from a stone. Emmett doesn't have anything for them to get.”

Laura thought of Gwyneth's money, now hers. “I have money.”

“Yeah, but that's yours, not Emmett's. The Cruzes can't touch that.”

She thought of the poor Cruzes. Their lives had been shattered, yet they were left to pick up the pieces without restitution or satisfaction. It wasn't fair.

“Not unless I give it to them,” she answered.

145

L
AURA WANDERED FROM
room to room of the apartment, careful not to look out to the terrace.

This will always be Gwyneth's place. It will never feel like mine.

She knew that she was making the right decision as she called Roberta Golubock at Sotheby's International Realty to make an appointment with her to come over and list the penthouse.

She wasn't quite sure how much the luxury apartment would bring, but she knew it would be in the millions. With that, and all the rest Gwyneth had left her, Laura knew she was a truly wealthy woman, in the enviable position of doing whatever she damned well pleased.

She could give it all to the Cruzes. Or she could keep some of the money and invest it—and have the funds to do other good things, help other people. Laughing Jade sprang to her mind and Laura was sure she would put enough aside to fund the child's college education.

And what about Ricky Potenza? He had been just a child, innocent of any wrongdoing—his life, and his family's, ruined by what had happened that long-ago night at Palisades Park. Maybe now she could help Ricky and his mother.

Laura got out a legal pad and began to write, making a list of things she could do with her money to make things better, to somehow make amends in her own way for life's inequities. As her pencil moved across the yellow page, she felt her spirits begin to lift.

There was enough there to do a lot of good.

She picked up the telephone to call Jade.

ST. MARTIN'S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY MARY JANE CLARK

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Do You Promise Not to Tell?

Let Me Whisper in Your Ear

Close to You

Nobody Knows

Nowhere to Run

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

LET ME WHISPER IN YOUR EAR

Copyright © 2000 by Mary Jane Clark.

Excerpt from
Dancing in the Dark
copyright © 2005 by Mary Jane Clark.

Excerpt from
Hide Yourself Away
copyright © 2004 by Mary Jane Clark.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-031725

ISBN: 0-312-93809-8

EAN: 80312-93809-3

St. Martin's Press hardcover edition / September 2000

St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / July 2001

St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

eISBN 9781429902908

First eBook edition: February 2013

 

Read on for an excerpt from

Mary Jane Clark's new novel

DANCING IN THE DARK

Coming in July 2005 in hardcover

from St. Martin's Press!

 

PROLOGUE

 

Thursday evening, August 18th

Deprived of sight, her other senses were intensified. She stood in the darkness, seeing nothing, but hearing the persistent roar of the Atlantic Ocean in the distance and the soft flapping of wings right above her. Her nostrils flared at the smell of must and decay. The ground was damp and cold beneath her bare feet, her toes curling in the wet, sandy dirt. She felt something brush against her ankle and prayed it was only a mouse and not a rat.

Three days in this dank chamber were enough. If she had to stay any longer, she would surely lose her mind. Still, when they found her, as she fantasized they would, the police would want to know everything. To survive this, she'd have to be able to recount every detail of what had happened.

She would tell the police how he'd leave her alone for what seemed like hours at a time. She would tell them how he'd gagged her when he left so nobody would hear her screams and how he would only lower the gag to press his mouth against hers when he returned.

The police would want to know what he'd said to her, but she would have to tell them that she had stopped asking him questions after the second day of captivity because he'd never answered. He'd expressed what he wanted by touch. She'd be sure to tell them how he'd caressed her and lifted her up, how he'd maneuvered his body against hers, how she had known she must follow his lead.

As she continued to mentally organize the information the police would surely need from her, she felt a familiar rumble from her stomach. She had eaten sparsely of the meager provisions, but that didn't really bother her. Hunger was a familiar friend. She knew the ability to survive with minimal sustenance was one of her most impressive strengths, though, of course, her parents didn't see it that way. Nor did her former friends or teachers or the health care professionals who had worked so hard to steer her away from the path she had chosen for herself. They didn't see what to her was only obvious. Not eating was the ultimate control.

As she listened to a pigeon cooing from the eaves above her, she thought more about her parents. They must be frantic with worry. She imagined her mother crying, and her father pacing and cracking his knuckles, over and over, his annoying habit whenever he was upset. Was everyone in town out looking for her? She prayed they were. She hoped that anyone who had ever wronged her, anyone who had ever snubbed her, anyone who had ever hurt her, was worried about her now.

The low rumble of the waves rolled in and out, and she began to rock to the rhythm, trying to soothe herself. It was all going to work out. It had to. She would tell the police what had happened, how he'd silently pulled her to her feet. Without words, he'd shown her what he wanted her to do by the way he moved his body next to hers. She had danced in the dark for him. Danced again and again, trying desperately to please him. Dancing for her life.

Four hours later

The security guard raised his arm and pointed the flashlight at his wrist. Still an hour to go before his shift was over. Time for one last patrol.

Strolling along the empty paths, George Croft pulled his handkerchief from his uniform pocket, wiping his forehead and the back of his neck. Except for the excessive heat, it was a night like many others in the quiet oceanside community. An occasional throaty snore emanated from the canvas cottages he passed. The rules permitted no loud talking after ten o'clock, and most lights were off by 11:00
P.M.
The combination of sun, heat, and salt air had left the summer occupants ready for a good night's sleep.

Finishing up on Mt. Carmel Way, the guard cut across the grass and stopped to check the doors of Bishop Jane's Tabernacle and the Great Auditorium one last time. The massive Victorian-style wooden structures were locked up tight as drums. The illuminated cross that shone from the top of the auditorium, serving as a naval landmark for passing ships, beamed into the night, signaling that all was well.

He was satisfied that everything was in order, but he still had another fifteen minutes before he was officially off duty. God forbid something happened before 2:00
A.M.
, and he wasn't on the grounds. He'd lose his job over that. And, although she didn't live in his patrol area, that young woman was still missing. If some sick nut was intent on abducting another Ocean Grove girl, the guard wasn't going to have it happen on his watch.

Lord, it was hot. Longing for a drink of cool water, George turned his flashlight in the direction of the wooden gazebo which protected the Beersheba well. He knew the first well driven in Ocean Grove had been named for a well in the Old Testament. Beersheba's waters had been good enough for the Israelites back then, and good enough for his town's founding fathers, but he preferred the bottled stuff. Still, the gazebo was as good a place as any to wait it out until his shift was over.

With no breeze blowing in from the ocean, the night air was especially still. He trained the yellow light on the lawn in front of him and walked slowly, trying to kill time. Noticing one of his shoes was undone, he put the flashlight down in the grass and stooped to tie the lace. It was then that he heard the scratching sound.

The fine hairs tingled on the back of his clammy neck and George spun the flashlight in the direction of the noise. He squinted, trying to identify what he was seeing. A dark, motionless mound lay at the base of the gazebo.

With caution, George stepped a little closer. Just when he heard the scratching again, he detected slight movement coming from the form. Slowly, slowly, he approached until, finally, the glare of the flashlight reflected off the pale skin of a female face, blindfolded and gagged.

 

FRIDAY

AUGUST 19

CHAPTER ONE

Diane could feel the heat from the sidewalk seeping through the soles of her shoes as she hurried down Columbus Avenue. As beads of perspiration slipped down her sides, she wiped the dampness accumulating at her brow line with one swoop, negating the twenty minutes she had spent in front of the bathroom mirror with her hair dryer, round brush, and styling mousse. Her freshly laundered cotton blouse stuck to her back, and the starched collar was beginning to droop. The day hadn't even begun and already she was a wilted mess.

She was anxious, as usual, about being late and she wished she hadn't promised herself to walk to work. The twenty-block trek was the only dependable exercise she got these days, and she needed it. She had let her gym membership elapse since she found she wasn't using it on any routine basis. There just wasn't time anymore—not if she was going to spend the hours she felt she must with the kids right now.

Sniffing the sickening smell of garbage already baking in the morning sun as it waited to be picked up from the curb, Diane felt relief that her two-week vacation was about to begin. It would be so good to get out of the city, away from the oppressive heat, away from the noise and the hustle and the pressure. These last months had been tough on all of them, brutal really. Sometimes, it didn't feel like any of it could have happened at all. Yet, the reality was all too clear when she spotted Michelle biting her nails, or watched Anthony's shoulders slump when she caught him staring at his father's framed picture on the piano, or when she reached out in the middle of the night to the empty place in her queen-size bed.

She cut across the courtyard at Lincoln Center, stopping for just a moment at the wide fountain, hoping to catch of bit of fine spray. But there was absolutely no breeze to propel the mist her way.

Adjusting her shoulder bag, Diane continued walking. No matter. Soon she and the kids would be someplace where the air didn't stink and the water flowed cool and clear. Maybe they weren't going the way they had originally planned, maybe it wasn't the way they would have wanted it, but it was the way things were. They were going on this vacation. They deserved it. They needed it after all they had been through.

Life, even without Philip, had to go on.

Pushing through the heavy revolving door into the lobby, Diane welcomed the blast of cool air. She smiled at the uniformed security guards as she fumbled in her bag for the beaded metal necklace that threaded its way through the opening on her identification pass. Finding it, she swept the card against the electronic device that beeped to signal that she was cleared to enter the KEY News Broadcast Center. She knew that many of the other correspondents found it annoying to produce their
I.D.
's. They thought that their well-known faces should be enough for entry, but Diane didn't mind. Security had an increasingly tough job, and it was easy enough for her to pull out her card. She did draw the line, however, at wearing the thing around her neck all day. That wasn't a fashion statement she cared to make.

Diane purchased a cup of tea and a banana at the coffee trolley and then walked up the long, wide ramp to the elevators, passing the large, lighted pictures of the KEY News anchors and correspondents, grouped according to their broadcasts. Eliza Blake beamed from
KEY Evening Headlines
poster. Constance Young and Harry Granger grinned beneath the
KEY to America
morning show logo. The
Hourglass
photo, taken over a year before, showed Cassie Sheridan surrounded by the news magazine's contributing reporters. Diane didn't stop to study her own face, with its blue-gray eyes and nose she wished was just a little bit straighter, smiling from the wall with her colleagues. She needed no reminder. The worry and aggravation of the past few months were showing on her face. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes had deepened, and new ones had formed around her mouth, vestiges of unconscious frowning. Lately, Diane noticed she was forced to apply concealer several times a day to camouflage the dark circles that had developed beneath her eyes.

Another good reason for a vacation, Diane thought, as she pressed the elevator button. If she could just get away and relax for a bit, her appearance would benefit. All of the female correspondents were acutely aware that the way they looked played into their success. Experience was valued, but beauty was rewarded. Those were just the facts of life for females in broadcast news. The guys paid attention to their appearances too, of course. But they could let their hair go gray, sport some wrinkles, gain a few pounds, and get away with it. The women couldn't. They groused about it with their friends, but it wasn't going to change and they knew it.