Nothing to Fear (18 page)

That stripped the wind from his sails. “Clay, it’s complicated. She’s . . .” He searched his mind for a parallel. “Were you ever caught in a really bad squall when you were out at sea? So bad you weren’t sure you were going to come out of it right side up?”

“A time or two.”

“Did you ever have the sea just go calm on you? Like the storm never was?”

“No.”

“Neither had I until yesterday morning.” He pulled his car from the copy store’s lot. “I have to go. The electronics store will be opening soon.”

Chapter Nine

Chicago, Monday, August 2, 10:00 A.M.

“You wanted to see me?”

Dana looked up from her computer and found a warm smile for Jane Smith. “Have a seat.” Jane sat, her eyes fixed on the carpet. “I wanted to give you a day or two to settle in before we talked. I’d like to understand where you came from, where you’d like to go.”

“Go? Go where? I . . . I just got here.”

Jane’s voice held tremulous fear, her hands clasped tightly between her knees, her back hunched over. “Well, not today, Jane. But at some point you’ll want to leave and build a life for you and Erik. Have you thought about the kind of life you’d like to have?”

One shoulder lifted. “Don’t wanna get beat up no more.”

It was a common refrain. “That’s a good start. Can you tell me about your life before?”

“My husband drank. Beat me if I did anything he didn’t like, which was about every day.”

“What about Erik?”

“What about him?” she mumbled.

What about him? What a question. “He’s a very troubled young boy.”

She looked up, her odd eyes bleak. “His daddy . . . hurt him.”

That Dana could believe. The child hadn’t made eye contact in the two days he’d been here. Every time she’d checked up on him she’d found him curled up in a ball on his bed. The one time she tried to touch him, he flinched as if she’d burned him. And someone had. Recently. “How, Jane? How did his father hurt him?”

“Beat him sometimes. Burned his face. That’s what made me leave.”

“I’d like to talk to Erik.”

“No.” It was said quickly and with heat. “He’s been through enough.”

Dana sat back in her chair, studied the woman’s huddled form. “I understand your not wanting to hurt him further, Jane, but Erik needs help. Maybe more than I can give him.”

She looked up and it took every nerve Dana had not to flinch when Jane’s eyes filled with tears, her pupils stark against nothing but white. “Leave him be. Please.”

Disturbed, Dana nodded. “All right. I won’t talk to him just yet. But he does need to be seen by a doctor, Jane. If his father hurt him, we need to check him out.”

Jane’s eyes flared. “Nobody touches my kid.” It was almost a snarl and she started, as if she’d surprised herself as much as Dana. The woman’s eyes dropped back to the floor. “Erik’s never been . . . right,” she continued, her voice calmer now. “He has seizures.”

It’s Erik’s mother who isn’t exactly right, Dana thought. “What kind of seizures, Jane?”

“Epileptic. He’s on medicine. I need some more soon. Keppra and Phenobarbital.”

“Do you have the bottles?”

“No. I left the bottles so my husband wouldn’t see it missing and know we were gone.”

“Well, I’ll talk to Dr. Lee about a refill. What did you do before you came here, Jane?”

Jane’s jaw tightened fractionally. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you have a job outside your home, have you had any job training?”

“Why?”

Dana walked around her desk and perched on the edge, trying to lessen any feelings of intimidation. “Jane, Hanover House isn’t a place you can stay forever. Women come, get their bearings, then they leave. We have a policy of a three-week maximum stay.” Which they routinely broke, of course. Somehow Dana felt loath to mention that fact.

“But I’m afraid to leave,” she whispered. “He’ll find me and make me go back.”

Me. Not us. Me. “Back to where, Jane?” she asked and the woman stiffened.

“You don’t understand. You’re the only one I can trust. This is the only place I’ll be safe.”

I’ll be safe. Not we’ll. Not my son. Me. I. There was a pattern here Dana didn’t like. “Back where, Jane?” she repeated.

Her brows bunched stubbornly. “It don’t matter. I’m never going back there anyways.”

“That’s good for you and Erik. But Erik needs a stable home. To make that happen, we need to find you a job. Did you have a job before Erik was born?”

“I was seventeen.” It was said defensively, Jane’s arms coming up to cross over her chest. And it was in that movement that Dana saw Jane’s scars. Small and light, they crisscrossed the inside of her arms wrist to elbow. It was just a glimpse. But it told Dana a great deal about the woman sitting before her.

At one time Jane had cut herself. Not as an attempt at suicide, but an initial cry for attention. Later to exert control over the only thing she’d had control of at the time. Her own body. Dana had seen this more than once over her years as a therapist. Now Jane’s world was upside down again. Stress often caused people to fall back to familiar ways of coping. They’d need to watch both Jane and Erik more closely.

Dana focused on the present. Jane did not want to think about a job, which was not unusual. Most women needed some time to process all the things they needed to do now that they were truly alone in the world, many for the first time in their lives.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you go through the want ads in the paper, then later this afternoon, join us for our group therapy session? Jane, you took the biggest step in walking away from your husband. That was braver than what most people do in a lifetime. It’s my job to help you make the most of the second chance you’ve given yourself.”

Jane’s nod was brief. “Can I go back now? I hate to leave Erik for so long.”

“Certainly.” Dana handed her the newspaper, fighting the urge to shove it in her hand when Jane just sat looking at it. Finally Jane took the paper, stood up, walked out.

Dana stared after her, instinct screaming that something was very wrong. But she’d also learned that no two women responded to abuse the same way. She sat down and finished making her notes, deep in thought when she was jerked back to reality.

“Good morning,” Caroline said from the doorway. “Can I come in?”

“Could I stop you?” Dana asked dryly.

Closing the door, Caroline chuckled. “Probably not.” She sank into a chair. “So what happened last night?” she asked with no further preamble.

Dana gave her best bland look. “You could have just called and asked.”

Caroline grinned. “And miss the way you’re blushing right now? No way.”

“I’m not blushing.”

Caroline raised her eyes to the ceiling. “First stage is denial.”

Dana shrugged, trying for careless, knowing she couldn’t pull it off. “You’re right.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Did he do something wrong?”

“No, nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman.” Except when his hands covered my breasts. And it was the most incredible thrill. Dana propped her elbows on her desk, her chin on her fists. “We had dinner and he told me about his accident. His friend died and he’s still grieving, but talking seemed to help. We had hot wings. I ate vegetables.”

Caroline arched a brow. “One sad little celery stalk doesn’t count, Dana. Then what?”

“He wanted to take me home, but I said no.”

“Prudent,” Caroline said.

“But he didn’t give up, so I had to let him walk me to my apartment.”

Caroline grimaced. “I bet that was a real eye-opener.”

“He was less than impressed. We chatted a bit more. Then he left.”

“He left.” Caroline ran her tongue over her teeth. “You’re going to make me pull every little detail out of you with a crochet hook, aren’t you?”

Dana dragged her fingers through her hair. “Dammit, Caroline. We talked. He kissed my forehead. That’s it. No rabid romance.” No hot sweaty sex to top off my tank. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” You have no idea how much.

“Okay. So when do you see him again?”

Dana looked at the ceiling. “Two hours ago.”

Caroline’s grin lit up the room. “Now we’re cookin’, Dupinsky. So what happened then?”

Dana had to laugh at her friend’s glee. “We talked some more. Then he walked me to my car. And he kissed me. On the lips.”

“And?”

Dana closed her eyes, her cheeks burning, her heart pounding at the memory of that kiss, her lips still tingling hours later. “Oh, my God.”

“So he really didn’t lose anything he couldn’t live without,” Caroline said wryly.

Dana thought about that hard ridge, pulsing just where she’d needed it. “Oh, no.”

“So when do you see him again?”

“Tonight at seven. If Evie’s busy, can you spend an hour or two here?”

“For you, for this? Absolutely. Now, I did have another reason for coming this morning besides the Buchanan report.” She glanced at the door and dropped her voice. “Jane.”

Dana frowned down at her notes. “What about her?”

“She really worries me, Dana. Yesterday, I caught her smoking in the bathroom. I wasn’t angry, I just asked her not to do it again. But she was furious. Had this controlled little explosion. I could tell she hadn’t meant to do it, and that she was fighting to calm herself back down.” Caroline frowned. “For just a second, she reminded me of Rob.”

Dana blinked. Caroline’s ex-husband had been a monster. “Oh, Caroline, really.”

“I’m serious. Then later, when David came to fix the roof? She’d gone out back to smoke and I saw her staring at David.”

“David’s a handsome man. Most women stare at him.”

“Not like this. This was nasty. Lascivious. Calculating.” She shivered. “I didn’t like it.”

Dana sighed. Her own instinct was one thing, but Caroline’s concurrence was something she couldn’t just ignore. “What do you think we should do, Caroline? Those bruises she came here wearing were real. Erik’s been through some serious trauma.”

“I don’t know what to do. Her boy breaks my heart. Just . . . watch her for now, okay?”

“I will.”

Sue shut the door to her room, breathless, having skipped up the stairs an instant before Caroline opened the door to Dupinsky’s office. She eyed the kid sitting up on the bed, groggy but aware. Dupinsky better come through soon with the refill. She needed to keep the boy uncommunicative, as she had no doubt that Dupinsky would try to talk to him. It was a typical social worker response—talk, talk, talk. That Dupinsky was forcing her to look for a job so soon had been a bit of a shock. She’d expected some pampering, a little kindness. She threw the newspaper, barely missing the kid’s head, watched him flinch.

At least she could use the job search to her advantage. This morning she’d sneaked out to get her latest e-mail to the Vaughns and to kill good old Leroy Vickers. But if she were out looking for work, well, she wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. She’d still have to be careful, still need to be sure she stayed far away from old haunts, from where anyone could recognize her. James was still out there, hovering. Of that she had no doubt.

She’d forced the kid to take another of his pills and was chasing it with Benadryl when a movement caught her eye, out the window, down on the street. It was Caroline, walking to her car. That woman was dangerous. Sue had heard every word they’d said. Sooner or later Dupinsky would listen to those disturbing observations, and lack of pampering or not, this was a pretty good place to hide. Caroline needed to be dealt with.

She pulled her cell from her backpack. Fred answered on the third ring. “I was getting a little concerned, SusieQ. I didn’t think you’d call me back.”

“Well, I did. Look, I’ll do what you want me to do, but I have another favor for you.”

“Stackin’ up the favors, Susie? I don’t know.”

“Trust me. This one you’ll enjoy.”

Chicago, Monday, August 2, 4:30 P.M.

She was hot and wet and constant fluid motion, rising to meet him like a wave of the sea. Her long, long legs wrapped around him, her husky voice whispered his name, her brown eyes filled with lust. He pushed deeper and she moaned and—

Ethan jerked awake, instantly lifting his head from the pillow. The clock was beeping obnoxiously. He dropped his face back into the pillow with a groan. His head still ached, but his body ached worse, certain vicinities more than others. It had been a dream. Just a dream. But so damn real and so damn good. He was rock-hard and ready to go from just a dream. What would it be like when he touched her for real? Because he would. He’d thought it when she first looked up at him in the bus station yesterday morning, but knew it after that kiss up against her car. She’d come alive in his arms and it had been like . . . Like she was made just for me. And I’ll see her again in a few hours. His stomach rumbled, but he wouldn’t eat. Not until he met her at the hot dog stand. He had to eat. He had to see her. Doing both at the same time was the only way to satisfy his conscience because as he’d told Clay, he did understand his priorities.

Which now included assembling the equipment he’d bought and checking out that copy store surveillance video. Dragging himself out of bed, he flipped on ESPN to catch the tail end of the Orioles game while he opened boxes and connected cords, wondering if Dana was listening to the Cubs play while she took pictures of mothers and babies.

The O’s were up by two when he’d finished converting the copy store’s video to digital and he switched his concentration to the image on his computer screen, magnifying the woman’s shoulder, playing with contrast and color, trying to see what the makeup covered.

A half hour later he sat back. Her left shoulder had a tattoo, but all he could see was an uppercase A, stylized similar to the first letter of a medieval hand-drawn text. The rest stubbornly remained hidden beneath the thick makeup. “Better than we had this morning, but still not enough,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He needed a shower and a shave. And food. But food would have to wait for the best dogs in town. And Dana.

He still had work to do before he met her tonight. He’d only stay a few minutes, because he did know his priorities and right now his priority was a twelve-year-old boy who needed every waking moment he could give.