Читать книгу Every Waking Moment - Brenda Novak - Страница 11

MANUEL STOOD at the window of his Sacramento hotel, gazing down at the busy street below. Where was she? If he didn’t catch Vanessa soon, he might never find her.

Contemplating life without her made it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t believe she’d gotten away from him; he still hadn’t completely dealt with the shock of it. But he told himself he wouldn’t have to. He’d eventually figure out what she had planned, where she was going. He wouldn’t allow her to humiliate him in front of his whole family.

I told you she couldn’t be trusted. I told you to quit thinking with your dick, his mother had said. You should’ve taken Dominick and moved on years ago.

His brothers had clucked their tongues and acted smug, knowing full well that their own wives would never have the courage to defy them. She doesn’t know her place, José had said, the comment an obvious suggestion that Manuel should teach her.

It was high time he did, Manuel thought. Once he found Vanessa, he’d give her a lesson she’d never forget. She wouldn’t even be able to brush her teeth without permission. He’d prove to his family that he could handle her, that he could handle any woman.

But first he had to find her, and reporting the car stolen had netted him only one lead. He knew Vanessa had been pulled over while traveling north on Highway 5. That piece of information had led him to Sacramento, but he didn’t know where to go from here.

Pinching his neck, he turned to the phone. He’d already contacted Vanessa’s family and all her old friends. They claimed not to have heard from her and sounded so genuinely surprised by his call that he believed them. He probably shouldn’t have wasted the time. After what had happened before, the odds weren’t good she’d go back to them again.

Should he call the police and report that Vanessa had kidnapped their son? That she’d been kidnapped herself? He wanted to—but he couldn’t. There was always the chance that Vanessa had learned more about his business than he realized. If she aroused suspicion and the police launched an investigation, it would put his whole family in jeopardy. His mother said there was no need to invite trouble, to forget about Vanessa.

But that was easy for his mother to say. She’d never liked Vanessa, wanted to be rid of her. She didn’t understand that he’d never met anyone who could arouse him the way Vanessa could.

Maybe he should fly to Arizona, just in case she decided to break her silence long enough to—

The telephone rang.

Crossing the floor in four strides, he snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s Richard. I’ve got news.”

Manuel’s heart began to pound. “You’ve found her?”

“No. But the police called. They’ve located the car.”

“Where?”

“Fallon, Nevada.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Was it abandoned or something?”

“They found it in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. They waited for the driver to come out, but no one ever showed.”

“Damn it!” he said, and kicked the desk chair across the room.

Richard remained silent.

Manuel rubbed his face, grappling for control. Don’t let the panic win. Calm down. Think. Nevada…

Quickly, he spread out the map he’d purchased and searched the state to the east of California. Fallon…Fallon…

Finally he pinpointed the town. It was on Highway 50, not far from the California-Nevada border. If Vanessa didn’t have a car anymore, she was probably still there. Or somewhere close.

He felt a powerful surge of hope. Now the search was narrowing.

“Manuel, are you there?” Richard asked.

“Call Hector and everyone else. Tell them to get their asses to Fallon.”

“Don’t you want to go there yourself?”

“I’m on my way. But Fallon’s not very big. If she’s there, it shouldn’t be hard to find her. What we have to do is set up an outside perimeter. How far could she have traveled from Fallon if she left around the time the cops found her car? We’ll mark that on a map. Then some of us will stay in Fallon and the rest will fly to the outer line of that perimeter and slowly move in toward the center.”

“Sounds smart,” Richard said.

It was smart. Finding that car was the lucky break he’d been waiting for.

AT EUREKA, Preston took over the driving. The change woke Max, who wasn’t too happy about having to get back in the van after their brief stop. But Preston was glad to trade seats with Emma. The nap had revived him, and he felt more comfortable behind the wheel. Soon they’d reach Ely, then Wendover. Beyond Wendover, they’d have a final two-hour stretch across the salt flats, then they’d arrive in Salt Lake City.

“When can we eat?” Max asked.

Preston could see Emma fighting sleep. At the sound of her son’s voice, she jerked her drooping eyelids open and looked at Preston. “Do you think we could get some dinner in Ely?”

He nodded, wanting to tell her she could go ahead and relax. A normal person, a person with any compassion, would do that. But Max was wide-awake and talkative, and Preston didn’t want to be left alone with him. The memories crowded too close.

“We’ll stop soon,” she told her son.

“When?” Max asked.

“In about an hour.”

“An hour! That’s too long.”

Preston felt the same way. Glaring down at the odometer, he willed the miles to pass more quickly.

“Hey, Mom. There’s a rabbit!”

Max’s squeal of excitement startled Emma, who’d been about to nod off again. “What, honey? What did you say?”

“Did you see it? Huh, Mom? Did you see it?”

She covered a yawn. “See what?”

“The rabbit,” Preston muttered.

The exasperation in his voice acted like a jolt of caffeine. It also resurrected the tense expression she’d worn earlier. “Sorry,” she said, but he didn’t know if she was talking to him or to Max.

“You’re not looking,” Max complained.

“I am now,” she said.

Preston watched Emma gather whatever reserves of strength and patience she had left and turn toward the window, presumably in search of wildlife. But he couldn’t expect her to continue acting as a buffer between him and her son. He couldn’t be that much of a jerk. He didn’t know her whole history, but he was beginning to understand that her life hadn’t gone much better than his. If he was going to drop her off in Salt Lake, the least he could do was let her get some sleep along the way.

Still, he cringed at the thought of dealing directly with Max.

He put off what his conscience dictated, hoping the guilt would recede. But it didn’t, so he finally reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

When he touched her, she gaped at him in astonishment.

“Go to sleep,” he said briskly.

She shook her head. “I’m getting my second wind.”

“Bullshit. You’re exhausted.”

“Did you say the ‘s’ word?” Max asked.

“Max, it’s none of your business,” Emma warned.

“He said the ‘s’ word, Mom. I heard him.”

“That’s okay,” she replied. “It’s not up to us to tell Mr. Holman how to speak, especially in his own car.”

“Can I say the ‘s’ word?”

“Absolutely not.”

“He did.”

“I’m bigger than you,” Preston chimed in. “When you’re my age, you can decide what words to use.”

Max seemed satisfied with this answer, but not thirty seconds later Preston heard him murmuring, “Shit…shit, shit, shit.”

Evidently, Emma heard him, too, because she twisted in her seat. “Max! What do you think you’re doing?”

Preston adjusted the rearview mirror to see Max’s eyes widen. “Practicing,” he said innocently.

Emma shook her head, and Preston couldn’t help laughing. “Rest,” he told her. “You can worry about cleaning up his language later.”

“You’re smiling,” she said as though she was amazed that he could.

Preston instantly sobered. “Just get some sleep.”

“If my son says shit one more time, you’re going to have to take us all the way to Iowa.”

“Do you really have family there?”

With a yawn, she laid her head back. “No.”

EMMA CLOSED HER EYES but refused to relax completely. She had to remain cognizant of what went on in the car. Although she was beginning to doubt that Preston was really as unfeeling as he wanted her to believe, he made no secret about his dislike of children. She’d seen the way he looked at her son, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of him, and had no intention of letting Preston say or do anything unkind to Max while she slept.

“Are we almost there?” Max asked.

Knowing this question would probably annoy Preston more than any other, because Max asked it so often, Emma tried to summon the energy to answer. But Preston responded before she could, and with far more patience than she’d expected.

“We’ve got another thirty minutes or so.”

“Thirty minutes? Is that long?”

“It’s half an hour.”

“Is half an hour long?”

Preston chuckled. “Not really.”

“Can I have some ice cream when we get there?”

Emma made an effort to bring words to her lips. She’d given Max an insulin injection when they’d stopped, but his glucose level had reached 450 mg/dL, which was very high. She didn’t want him to have any more treats until she could get his blood sugar under control. “Don’t let him have another cookie, okay?” she mumbled.

Unless she was mistaken, Preston’s voice sounded almost gentle. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, remember?”

“He’s had enough sweets.”

“I won’t give him anything. We’re about to have dinner.”

She thought she said okay, but wasn’t sure. Exhaustion made her limbs heavy, her tongue unwieldy.

“My dad’s gonna be mad if we don’t go home soon,” Max announced.

The hot sun, glaring through her window, made Emma feel warm and lazy—as though she were lying at the side of their pool. Despite that, she realized her son was attempting to enforce his will by appealing to the power his father had always held in his life, and felt guilty for dragging him so far from home. They’d had to leave Max’s aquarium behind, his comfortable bedroom, his toys. Now they were struggling to deal with his health issues on the road. And they had almost nothing.

Except the chance at a new life, she reminded herself. She conjured up the little yellow house she’d imagined so often, and smiled inside. Soon they’d be safe and free.

“Does your dad ever play ball with you?” Preston asked conversationally.

“No.”

Emma let herself relax a little more. Maybe Preston wasn’t so bad. He was even trying to entertain her son. But his question almost made Emma laugh. Manuel wanted Max to excel at baseball, yet he couldn’t be bothered to stand out in the yard and play catch. He hired a private coach to work with him twice a week. Emma threw to him every other day.

“What’s your father like?”

The answers streamed through Emma’s mind like ticker tape: Controlling, obsessive, fanatical…

“He’s tall,” Max said.

“Did you live with him?”

Unfortunately…

“I still do.”

Not anymore, Max. Never again….

“So does he know you’re gone?”

“Um…” Max seemed a little puzzled. “He’s at work right now,” he answered at last.

“What does he do when he’s at work?”

Wouldn’t we all like to know….

“He wears a suit.”

“A suit, huh? Do you see him very often?”

“When he comes home.”

“Do you like it when he’s home?”

“Yeah. Sometimes he brings me a fish for my big tank.”

The fish Manuel brought home for Max’s aquarium seemed to swim through Emma’s thoughts. Shimmering. Colorful. Resplendent. And occasionally ferocious enough to eat the other fish in the tank….

“Then he takes my mom into the bedroom,” Max added out of nowhere.

Emma imagined Preston’s surprise that this comment would come from a five-year-old. She didn’t like her son volunteering such intimate information any more than she liked the way Max must feel about those occurrences; they’d obviously made an impact. But she felt strangely disconnected from the conversation. She was drifting in and out, baking in the hot sun. Sometimes she was beside the pool. Sometimes she was cooking in the house. Sometimes she was riding in the Hummer with Manuel at the wheel….

“What do you do while they’re in the bedroom?” Preston asked.

“I watch my new fish,” Max said.

Emma’s sluggish mind slowly presented a picture of her son standing in front of his aquarium while his father dragged her into the bedroom and locked the door. It never concerned Manuel, even when he hadn’t seen Max for a couple of weeks, and the boy was starved for his attention. Nor did Manuel care about the fact that Emma felt awkward and self-conscious with their child only a few feet from the door when he insisted on having sex with her. More often than not, Manuel went so far as to fasten her hands to the headboard. He liked bondage, but he rarely tied her feet. He wanted her to struggle. He relished having the power to subdue her while she tried to resist. Of course, if Max was awake in the other room, she had to do it silently, which Manuel enjoyed even more.

The heat became overwhelming. Too hot. Miserable. She wanted to find some relief. But there was no escape. Just as she feared there was no escape from the man she’d already lived with for five years. He’d never give up. He’d find her—

A hand touched her shoulder. She instantly recoiled.

“Emma?”

It was Preston. Breathing hard, she stared at him until the fact that he wasn’t Manuel could sink in.

“You seemed…agitated,” he said.

“The sun, it’s…hot on this side.”

He opened her air vent, which had apparently been closed, all the while watching her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Letting her eyes drift shut again, she nodded while waiting for her galloping pulse to slow. She still longed to slip into a peaceful sleep. But she knew she’d never relax now. Her dreams had made Manuel feel too close. She imagined him speeding down the highway, quickly closing the distance between them.

When Preston spoke a few minutes later, he lowered his voice as though he thought she was asleep, but Emma heard every word.

“Is that where the accidents happen, Max?” he asked. “In the bedroom?”

“What accidents?”

“Were you there when your mother burned her hand?”

“She burned her hand?”

Emma hadn’t mentioned the injury to Max. There seemed little point in making up a story to cover something he hadn’t noticed.

“You didn’t know?” Preston said.

“Maybe I was at the library with Juanita.”

Not the library. The park. Emma remembered well, because she’d been so grateful that her son was gone during her last big argument with Manuel.

“Who’s Juanita?” Preston asked.

“My nanny.”

“You have a nanny?”

“Yeah. She’s from Mexico,” he said proudly.

“Does she speak English?”

“No. She speaks Spanish like me and my dad.” Max had used the same kind of superior tone Manuel often adopted when speaking of his heritage, but if Preston was aware of the change, he didn’t react to it.

“I see. What about your mommy? Does she know Spanish, too?”

Max hesitated. Until the morning they’d left San Diego, and Juanita had shown up late, Emma had been careful around him. She wasn’t sure her son knew the extent to which she could both speak and understand Manuel’s native tongue, but finally Max said, “Sometimes.”

When I need to, Emma thought smugly. Manuel had tried to alienate her from his people, but it was his people who had made her escape possible. His people and the enigmatic man beside her, whose rare but gorgeous smile she already knew she’d never forget.

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” Preston said.

Emma’s nerves grew taut as she searched his face. They were only fifteen minutes from Ely and dinner. So close. But her escape had been ill-fated from the start. First Manuel hadn’t flown to Mexico as planned. Then she was pulled over by the CHP. Then she found that cop circling her car this morning and had to beg a ride from a complete stranger.

Instinctively, she craned her neck to look through the back window, expecting to see Manuel bearing down on them. He’d told her she couldn’t escape him. He’d promised that if she ever tried, he’d come after her, no matter how far he had to go, no matter how long it took. And she believed him. But except for the slower-moving RV Preston had passed only a few moments earlier, they were alone on the road.

“What kind of problem?” she asked, trying to stem her sudden deluge of fear.

“The engine’s overheating.”

The engine had been running a little hot while she was driving, too, but she’d thought that was more or less normal. They were traveling through the desert, after all, relying heavily on air-conditioning, which tended to tax the system. She’d assumed the van would be okay, especially since Preston hadn’t seemed concerned when she’d mentioned it earlier.

Evidently, that had changed. “How bad is it?” she asked.

He frowned as he applied the brake. “The gauge is showing red. We have to pull over.”

The tires crunched as they parked on the gravel shoulder.

“We’re getting out?” Max said eagerly.

“For a few minutes,” Emma told him, and glanced at her watch. It was after six. Considering the amount of insulin she’d given him at their last stop, he’d be going low if she didn’t feed him soon. And they’d already eaten most of their snacks. “You don’t happen to be a mechanic, do you?”

“I know stocks and bonds,” Preston said. “Not cars.”

Stocks and bonds. Somehow that seemed too yuppyish for Preston Holman, but Emma’s worry about their situation curtailed her surprise. “What do you think could be causing the problem?”

He bent over to pull the lever that would release the hood. “I’m guessing it’s the water pump.”

“That’s not good. If it’s the water pump, the van will only overheat again once we get back on the road.”

“Exactly.” He looked behind his seat and located a gallon of water. “At this point, I’m just hoping we can make it to Ely.”

“Then what?”

He brought the water into the front and opened his door. “I’ll have to get it fixed.”

Emma frowned. “But if Ely’s anything like the towns we’ve passed, they might not have a garage.”

“Ely’s got nearly five thousand people. There’ll be a garage.” He sounded tense, impatient.

“It’s after six o’clock,” she said. “The repair place, if there is one, will probably be closed.”

“Then we’ll have to get a motel.”

Damn. A motel meant they wouldn’t be continuing on tonight, and she didn’t feel she’d gone nearly far enough from where she’d almost been picked up for grand larceny. Not to mention California and Manuel….

“You’ll take us with you when you go on, won’t you?” Emma hated to press her luck. She knew Preston wasn’t any happier about the delay than she was. For whatever reason, he was in a big hurry to reach Iowa. But she had to ask.

He stepped out, not answering.

“Preston?”

It was the first time she’d used his given name, and she knew he’d noticed when he replied, “What was that, Emma?”

“You heard me,” she said, refusing to pander to his dark mood.

His eyebrows gathered as he glanced at Max, who was already clambering out the other side. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take you as far as Wendover and put you on a bus.”

Sighing, Emma watched him go around front and open the hood. When he bothered to be nice, it was almost impossible not to like him. But Preston wasn’t nice very often.

He’s really been through the wringer….

Whatever happened to Preston Holman had definitely left a mark.

WHEN THEY LIMPED into Ely more than an hour later, Preston’s nerves were shot. They’d had to stop every few minutes to let the engine cool, which turned what should’ve been a short drive into something interminable. They were hot, irritable and hungry. Because he’d had to get under the hood so many times and didn’t want Emma or Max to see the gun he’d hidden there, he’d tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, where it was digging into him. And Max’s pleading to stop, to eat, to unfasten his seat belt or go home had become a litany. Preston couldn’t wait to be rid of his passengers. Fair or not—maybe because they were to blame for the other unsettling emotions he’d experienced today—he held them responsible for this recent trouble. He shouldn’t have let Emma and Max ride with him. He’d known they’d be a problem.

“There’s a garage,” Emma said, pointing helpfully as he stopped at one of the few traffic signals in town.

A blue corrugated metal building on the left boasted a red-lettered sign that read Mel’s Auto Repair. But the garage doors were down and the office looked empty.

“They’re closed.” Which wasn’t any wonder at nearly seven-thirty at night.

“Looks like it,” she said.

Swallowing a sigh, Preston headed back to the motel they’d just passed. He’d get a room, some dinner and some sleep, in that order. Then he’d deliver the van to the shop early in the morning and see about getting the hell out of this place. And Emma and Max…

He didn’t know what they’d do. If they were still around when the van was ready, he supposed he’d take them to Wendover as promised or maybe even Salt Lake. But he certainly wouldn’t be upset if they decided to find another ride in the meantime.

“I’m staying here,” he said as he gestured at the Starlight Motel and mini-casino. “Where do you want me to drop you and Max?”

Catching his not-so-subtle hint that they go elsewhere, she blinked at him as though momentarily lost, then lifted her chin. “Um…there was a smaller motel down the street. Maybe that’ll work.”

“That’s a dive,” he said. “Why not let me take you to the Hotel Nevada?”

She bit her bottom lip. “No, I think the other place will be less expensive.”

“It’ll probably be a difference of, what? Ten bucks?”

“The smaller motel will be fine.”

Preston bit back a curse. Was she that worried about ten bucks? He thought of the burn on her hand, and her words, I’ll do absolutely anything to make sure we never go back, and hated himself for dumping them. She was on the run with a kid and no car; she was desperate.

But he wasn’t the man to help her. He had only one purpose left in life, to seek and destroy, not play the part of the Good Samaritan. Besides, Emma didn’t need him, not really. A woman who looked as fine as she did could probably take her pick of Good Samaritans—good male Samaritans, anyway.

Fleetingly, he realized she could hook up with someone more dangerous than the man she was running from, but he refused to acknowledge it.

“Whatever you say.” He wheeled the van around, but when they reached the small, dingy front office of the Feel Good Motel, Preston couldn’t bear to let Emma get out without giving her some money. At least she and Max would get a good dinner tonight. That was something, wasn’t it?

The fifty landed in her lap before she could climb out. She stared down at it, then closed her eyes and shook her head in obvious disgust. “I don’t want your money,” she said, throwing it back at him. “I was asking for a ride to somewhere you’re going anyway. But I can see now that we’re too much of an inconvenience. You can’t be bothered with a woman. Especially a woman who has a child, God forbid.”

Preston clenched his jaw as her words hit him where he was most vulnerable. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you to Salt Lake. I just thought—”

“I know what you thought. You’ve made it crystal clear that you don’t want us around,” she said, and got out. “Come on, Max. We’re done riding in this car.”

“Take the damn money and at least get a decent room,” Preston said.

“Damn,” Max repeated. “Can I say shit and damn when I get big?”

“No,” she snapped. “And you can’t do anything else like Mr. Holman, either. If I have my way, your heart will never be three sizes too small. Say goodbye to Mr. Scrooge.”

“Mr. Scrooge?” Max echoed.

Preston didn’t hear Emma’s response because she’d already slammed the door. He watched her grab her son’s hand and stomp into the office. She didn’t even have any luggage. She carried only a backpack and a purse, a purse with apparently little money.

Dropping his head into his hands, Preston massaged his temples. She’d alluded to The Grinch, not A Christmas Carol. She had her Christmas stories screwed up, after all. But it didn’t matter. His heart was three sizes too small.

He hesitated a moment longer but, ultimately, the gun pressing into his back reminded him that she’d be better off making other plans, plans that didn’t include him.