Читать книгу Yesterday's Gone - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 12

CHAPTER FIVE

“MOM TOLD ME you need a place to stay,” Eve said in a low voice her parents wouldn’t hear. “That Seth insists you move out of the hotel.”

They had been ushered into a conference room in the public safety building to wait for the tumult to die down so they could all slip away.

“He thinks some members of the press might be staying there,” Bailey agreed. “That they’re all going to try to get me by myself. I packed and checked out earlier.”

“You can stay with me if you want.” Eve sounded offhanded, even abrupt. “I don’t have a spare bedroom, but I do have a pullout couch.”

Bailey tilted her head, assessing the sincerity of this woman whom she’d barely met. Eve was trying to hide it, but, if Bailey read her right, she fairly bristled with dislike and resentment. It seemed ludicrous they had to pretend to have a sisterly relationship.

Was there any chance she actually did want them to get better acquainted? But all Bailey had to do was meet that expressionless gaze to know the answer. No. Her parents had thought it would be wonderful if Bailey stayed with her. She’d just about had to make the offer. But she wanted Bailey in her apartment about as much as Bailey wanted to be there.

Of course, there was the little problem of where she would go. One of those freeway exit hotels back in Mount Vernon, she thought, even as she studied Eve.

Her adopted sister was beautiful. Bailey knew when she was outshone. The other thing that stood out was how very different they looked, making her wonder if the Lawsons had asked for a foster daughter who bore no resemblance to their lost child. Had that occurred to Eve? Something else that might sting.

Masses of dark, curly hair fell to the middle of Eve’s back and framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. She had huge, brown eyes accentuated by long, dark lashes. She didn’t have to plaster on mascara to make her eyelashes visible, or use a pencil to color in pale eyebrows. Her complexion was dark enough to suggest she might be half Latina or Italian or—who knew?—Philippine or Arabic. Arabian nights, was what Bailey had thought, seeing her. Eve’s looks were somehow exotic, although she didn’t have the lush body that would make her a fortune at belly dancing. She was slimmer than Eve, almost slight, and small-breasted.

“Thank you for offering,” she said pleasantly, “but I already have something arranged.”

Eve’s nostrils flared. “I suppose Seth has taken care of you.”

Bailey refused to give anything away. “He’s been thoughtful.”

“Oh, he can be that.” Her lip curled the tiniest amount. “Until he’s not.” Eve turned her back, excluding Bailey. “Mom, Dad, if we go out the side door we ought to be able to make our getaway.”

Karen gazed beseechingly at Bailey. “Oh, but... Hope.”

“She has someplace else to stay.” Eve didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder.

Bailey took a deep breath, centered herself and smiled at Karen. My mother. “Could we have lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh!” Her cheeks pink, she turned her head as if it was a given she’d consult her husband. “Kirk, can you make it?”

He patted her back. “I think Bailey was inviting just you. It might be easier for her to get to know us one-on-one.”

“You don’t mind?”

He shook his head. “Of course I don’t. Bailey and I, well, we’ll have a chance.”

For some reason, the idea of spending time with him caused jolts of anxiety. Not fear—she didn’t think she’d ever been afraid of him, but...there was something.

Karen smiled. “Then I would love to have lunch with you, Hope.”

“I’ll call you in the morning, if that’s all right,” Bailey suggested.

“Perfect.”

Eve gave one narrow-eyed look over her shoulder, then escorted her parents out of the room. Bailey heard the deep grit of Seth’s voice speaking to them. From where she was standing, she couldn’t hear every word, but she made out enough to gather he was trying to separate Eve from her parents and failing because they were oblivious. The voices all faded as he apparently walked them out.

She sank into a chair at the long table, wishing she could take off, too. If she knew where to go—

Hostility masking all-too-familiar panic had her stiffening. Who said she had to consult him? She didn’t need Seth Chandler. Yes, he had been nice, but she knew damn well how he saw her. His ticket to fame and advancement. He’d be damn near as famous as she would be. The dedicated, caring detective who worked tirelessly to bring Hope Lawson home despite the heavy weight of his caseload. She could just hear it, said solemnly by a newscaster introducing the story.

Her suitcase was in the trunk of her rental. If she was lucky, she could dodge him and just go. To a hotel that wasn’t in Stimson. Maybe even one all the way south of Seattle by SeaTac. She could fly out in the morning. Call and apologize to Karen. Promise to stay in touch.

She jumped up from the chair, snatched up her bag and made for the door.

A couple of heads turned when she appeared in the hall, but she saw only one person. Seth, striding toward her, lines creasing his forehead. Frustration? Irritation? She couldn’t tell. But his expression changed when his gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile.

Her knees inexplicably wobbled. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Detective.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“Leaving?”

He gripped her arm. “I thought this would be a good time for us to talk.”

Her heart contracted. “Talk?”

“I want to put that son of a bitch behind bars where he can never touch a little girl again,” he said with controlled ferocity. “Never so much as set eyes on one.”

Without volition, she retreated a step. “I...didn’t realize you intended to do that so soon.” She was infuriated by the die-away tone. Gothic heroine, ready to swoon. Unfortunately, she felt close.

His hand on her arm tightened. “Are you all right, Bailey?”

“No.” She tried to keep backing away. “This has been a really hard day. I don’t... I can’t...”

“Will it be any easier tomorrow?”

This gentler tone weakened her. Damn him, she thought furiously. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to push.

“I don’t know, but forgive me if I’m not eager to dredge up the nightmare I’ve spent a whole lot of years doing my damnedest to suppress.”

“You want to let him get away with what he did to you?” His stare was hard now, all cop. Tactic number two: lay some guilt on her.

Trembling, she said, “What I want is to erase him from my memory.”

“What if he’s stalking a little girl right now?”