Читать книгу In A Heartbeat - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

DESPITE A FRACTURED ability to focus, Nate was doing his best to work through email when his desk intercom buzzed.

His assistant, Kim Pualani, said apologetically, “A woman is here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but says you’ll know who she is.”

He braced himself. “Her name?”

“Ah...Ms. Grainger. Anna Grainger.”

Kim knew what had happened and must have guessed this visit had to do with the tragedy.

“Send her in,” he agreed, although talking to Kyle Grainger’s widow was the last thing he wanted to do after taking the call from the PI.

“She’s on the warpath,” Smith had warned.

But Nate didn’t see an alternative to letting her lay into him. He couldn’t guess whether she’d accept an apology or anything else from him, but he had to try.

The door swung open, allowing him a glimpse of the woman he’d seen so briefly that day in the hospital. He rose to his feet as she walked in and Kim closed the door behind her. At least now, past the shock, Mrs. Grainger was vitally alive, if also furious. The red spots on her cheeks would have told him that much, even without the PI’s warning.

Nate had the uncomfortable realization that he could be attracted to this woman, long and sleek, honey-blond hair captured smoothly in some arrangement he couldn’t see, her dark blue eyes snapping with the same anger that accented high, perfectly honed cheekbones.

He didn’t even want to imagine how she’d react if she guessed her effect on him.

“Mrs. Grainger,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d intended to stop soon at your house to speak to you. Please, have a seat.”

She marched forward until his desk blocked her. Obviously, sitting down for a civil conversation wasn’t on her agenda. “Once you’d compiled your photographic record of every step I’ve taken? Every step my children have taken?”

“I didn’t ask—”

Anna Grainger talked right over him. “Do you have any idea how violated I feel? How enraged I am to discover someone has been spying on me? While he was at it, did your PI capture some suggestive pictures through a crack in my blinds? Or one of the kids undressing for bed? Which do you prefer, Mr. Kendrick, little girls or little boys?”

His own temper sparked, but with practiced calm he said, “You must guess why I hired a PI firm to monitor how you’re doing. I didn’t ask for photographs, and I haven’t seen any. All I’ve been given are verbal or written reports.”

Vibrating with fury, she snapped, “Then please explain why I caught that...that creep photographing me when I went for a run? Did you need to know I was getting my exercise? Should I reassure you I’m taking my vitamins?”

This wasn’t going anywhere good.

“Mrs. Grainger. All I wanted was to know how you and the kids were. Whether your husband had left you provided for.”

Unfortunately, part of the initial report provided the disturbing answer. Anna Grainger was close to destitute. Her husband had apparently lost all their money and then some in ill-judged investments. He seemed to have had a genius for making terrible decisions. It was possible they’d shared that genius, except her name hadn’t been on any of the paperwork Smith had been able to trace.

“That is none of your business,” she said. “I am none of your business. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, and I disagree. A series of circumstances led to your husband losing his life to save my child’s life. That places me deeply in your debt.”

She laughed, a caustic sound. “Then I absolve you. I do not want anything from you.”

“I can’t accept that.”

Her head tipped. “What are you offering? Have you put a suitable price on Kyle’s head?”

Nate winced. He had considered offering her money, which she needed as much or more than having her wastrel husband back. He hadn’t thought of it that way, and now that he did, knew an offer would be ill-received. Still...

“If you sued me or my ex-wife, a court would determine a suitable settlement.”

“Blood money.”

He didn’t say anything.

“That, Mr. Kendrick, is why I won’t be suing you. When I caught your PI spying on me, I had every intention of suing his ass, and yours, too. But then everyone would think I was just trying to soak you for money in recompense.”

“You care what everyone else thinks?”

She stiffened. “I care what I think of myself. Butt out, Mr. Kendrick. One more hint that you’re stalking me and I’ll call the cops.”

Crap. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing that way, either.

“Will you listen to my offer first?” Not money. He’d had one other, wild idea, which he’d go with.

“Oh, by all means.”

“I’m guessing that you’re applying for jobs.”

Her shift of expression told him he was right.

“Let me offer you one. We have a large staff at K & L Ventures. Large enough that there are nearly always openings.”

“For a janitor, perhaps? Or do you run a day care down in some alcove in the garage? Well, probably not that, since you’d be depositing your own daughter in it, wouldn’t you?”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t pause.

“What is it you think I can do, Mr. Kendrick? I have a teaching certificate, but my only classroom experience is student teaching. I’m not a whiz on a computer. Corporate finance? Well, no.” She abandoned sarcasm. “I don’t need your pity or charity. I don’t want anything from you. Is that clear?”

“You’re entitled to compensation for your loss.”

Anna Grainger snorted and stormed out of his office.

* * *

HER REAL ESTATE agent cleared his throat. “The house has only been on the market for six weeks, Mrs. Grainger. That’s not a long time.”

Usually, Alan Lang glowed with energy and enthusiasm. However, he had the kind of mobile face that he could rearrange at will. Right now, he was projecting encouragement and understanding.

Unfortunately, he probably understood her situation all too well. In his business, he’d know desperation when he saw it.

They sat in her living room, freshly painted, decluttered and as clean as she could make it. She’d become a tyrant about making both kids put everything away the second they were done with it. With kids the ages of hers, it took constant vigilance to be sure the house was ready to show at any time of the day or night. Not a dirty cup was left in the sink, a toothpaste smear on a bathroom countertop, a bed unmade or the lawn a quarter of an inch too long.

She’d been astonished to discover how often the doorbell rang during the dinner hour. Invariably, she’d find an apologetic agent on the doorstep asking if she’d mind if potential buyers just took a quick look.

“Of course not,” she’d say with a gracious smile. Like she could afford to say no.

She and her children were currently living an unreal life. A model family living in a model house, except she and the house both were unacceptably shabby.

This afternoon, Alan had stopped by ostensibly to pick up the business cards left by all the agents who’d showed the house. Anna knew he always followed up with a call to find out what the clients had thought. When he’d suggested they sit down and talk, a chill of apprehension had made her wish she had a sweater or sweatshirt at hand.

“When we bought this place, most houses were snapped up within twenty-four hours of being listed.” We. The very word gave Anna a pang that she had to shake off. “To buy one, you had to be in the right place at the right time.”

“With even a slight downturn in prices, the market favors buyers. I’m sorry to say that’s what we’re facing right now.”

“Okay,” she said cautiously. “But people are looking.”

“They are. Which I found encouraging at first.” He cleared his throat. “But now... We haven’t had so much as a nibble. The message I’m hearing from other agents is that the property is overpriced given the need for updates.”

Anna’s heart sank. He had set the price for her house higher than he’d liked in the first place at her insistence. She’d wanted to give herself room to negotiate. “You think we need to lower what we’re asking.”

“I suggest a twenty-thousand-dollar drop.”

She closed her eyes. Twenty thousand dollars—and offers would likely come in ten to twenty thousand dollars lower yet.

A couple calming breaths later, Anna met his eyes. As with so much else these days, she had no choice. She had to get out from under the mortgage, even if she walked away with nothing.

“Go for it,” she agreed, and saw his relief. He probably hadn’t expected her to be sensible.

A minute later, as she was showing him out, he commented, “You’ve kept the place looking good despite, er...” His cheeks reddened.

“Having a four-year-old and a seven-year-old living here?” She knew he wasn’t married and had no children yet. Even though he was probably close to her age, twenty-nine, Anna felt like a stodgy matron in comparison, their life experiences so vastly different. “You have no idea,” she said ruefully.

“Well.” He hovered briefly on the porch. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed this week.”

“Let’s,” she said, if somewhat drily.

After closing the door behind him, she stayed facing it as she battled panic. What if this drop in price wasn’t enough? What if...?

“Mo-om!” Jenna called from the bedroom.

Anna squared her shoulders, turned and put her game face on. She hoped the kids attributed to grief most of the stress they had to sense in her. Whatever else she did, she had to protect Kyle in their eyes. That’s what they needed—and what he’d earned with his sacrifice.

* * *

“CAN I STAY HOME?” Molly begged, sounding subdued. “I don’t feel very good.”

The minute Nate had seen who was calling, he’d known she or her mother would be making an excuse to keep her from spending the weekend with him. “Upset stomach?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

Two weeks ago, a friend whose name he didn’t recognize had asked her to a birthday party. Last minute, of course. He’d insisted on taking her out to dinner that Monday. She’d hardly met his gaze, nibbled at her pizza and mumbled a few words in response to his questions or remarks.

Phone conversations with her were useless. He kept having to say, “What?” or “I didn’t hear what you said.”

He’d learned that she hadn’t gone back to day camp. She didn’t know what teacher she’d have this year yet. When he asked if she was excited about school starting in less than two weeks, he got the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

The breakthrough he thought they’d made, talking honestly about the tragedy, had been a one-off. Molly didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to see him.

“You can be sick just as well here,” he told her now. “I’ll make you chicken-noodle soup, if you can keep it down, and rent some videos. I can give you hugs, too.”

Silence.

Grimly determined, Nate said, “Go get your mom, Molly. I’d like to talk to her.”

More silence. Waiting, he presumed she was doing as he asked.

“What?” his ex-wife snapped.

“What’s up with Molly?”

“She doesn’t want to go. What a surprise. Thash what happens when you let your daughter down nuff...e-nough times.” If she thought the careful correction helped, she was wrong.

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly.

“I’ve had a cup...couple a glash...glasses of white wine. So what?”

She’d been drinking too much the last year of their marriage. He hadn’t liked it then, and he liked it even less now that Molly was alone with her. Too often, when they spoke in the evening, he could tell she was plastered. If he thought she was drinking when she and Molly went out... But, so far, he had no indication that happened.

A lightning bolt struck. Had Sonja been taking nips from a bottle that day at the park? Was that what Mommy had been doing when Molly slipped away? Sickened, he wondered how he could find out.

“I’m on my way to pick up Molly,” he said. “I’m legally entitled to have her, and considering your state, she’ll be safer with me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have her ready to go.”

She was yelling at him when he cut her off. At least the other woman who had sliced and diced him recently hadn’t raised her voice.

Nate sat for a minute in his car before he felt patient enough to join the crazy after-six-o’clock traffic in downtown Seattle, laid out with one-way north-south streets and steep east-west streets, all inadequate for the number of cars that poured out of parking garages at this time of day. Usually, he avoided the mess by staying late. Eight, even ten o’clock, although he could just as well answer emails and do his research on his laptop at home. Traffic, he knew, was only an excuse.

He heard Sonja’s voice in his head. Some of us want an actual life.

That stung, because she was right. He didn’t have a life outside work anymore. Why bother? He liked the highs and lows on the job better than he had living with Sonja’s wildly swinging moods. Until another man died saving Nate’s little girl, he hadn’t seen any reason to change.

He shook his head and started the car. The one change he intended to make had to do with Molly. He wasn’t prepared to lose his daughter because his ex-wife had turned her against him.

He was lucky enough to find a parking spot close to the thirty-floor tower where Sonja had bought a condo. When Sonja opened the door, he saw Molly on the sofa with a packed, pink bag beside her. His once bright, cheerful child sat with hunched shoulders, her hair hanging over her face.

Sonja called him a few vicious names before he could usher Molly out. Once she was in the hall, he turned back and said quietly, “Next time, I’ll record you. You’d be smart to think twice before you use that kind of language in front of a seven-year-old child again.”

The door slammed in his face.

He took the bag from Molly and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. When she stole a look at him, he said, “Let’s go home.”

* * *

WEEKS LATER, ANNA still kept a sharp eye out whenever she left the house, with or without the kids. Catching the PI in the act had taught her a lesson. She’d never be so oblivious again when she went about her business. Mad as she was at Nate Kendrick, at least she didn’t have to worry that he’d use what he had learned to hurt her or the kids.

Which didn’t mean she wasn’t humiliated all over again to find a message from him on her phone when she was waiting for her coffee to brew early Saturday morning.

“Doesn’t look like your house has sold yet,” he said tersely. “My offer is still open. Job or cash settlement. Is your pride more important than your kids?”

That was it. No “Hello,” no “Goodbye.” Her first, stupid thought was to wonder how he’d gotten her cell phone number. As if that mattered.

She stood there in her kitchen, barefoot but otherwise dressed, because she didn’t have the luxury anymore of hanging around in her pajamas, not with the For Sale sign up at the foot of the driveway. Anger, humiliation, dented pride—yes, pride—and fear roiled inside her thanks to Nate Kendrick’s terse message.

He was right. Dear God, he was right. But she’d meant it when she described his offer of a settlement as blood money. What if she had to explain to the kids someday that they’d been living on money from Molly’s dad, paid to alleviate his guilt? She had no doubt that, once she cashed the check, he’d breathe a sigh of relief and go back to his workaholic ways, confident he’d done the right thing. Men like him never made time for their children. They were too addicted to adrenaline, to the pursuit of what Anna’s grandfather had called “the almighty dollar.”

But, with her stomach knotted, she had to face hard reality. If the bank evicted her and the kids, what would she do? Go to a shelter?

She’d give anything to have family to fall back on, but there wasn’t anyone. After Mom died when Anna was eight, she had gone to live with Grandad. She was a sophomore in high school when he had his second stroke, after which she’d been placed in a foster home. His estate had put her through college. She’d been so sure she could take care of herself after that. If only she hadn’t married so quickly, gotten pregnant almost immediately.

No, she couldn’t regret that. Those decisions had given her Josh and Jenna. She couldn’t unwish them.

Anna poured herself a cup of coffee, adding more sugar and milk than usual in hopes of settling her stomach. She felt queasy even thinking about eating.

“Mommy?” Still in her nightgown, Jenna wandered into the kitchen. “Josh told me to go away.”

“Let me guess.” Anna smiled at her daughter. “You tried to wake him up.”

A miniature Anna, Jenna looked mutinous. “He didn’t have to sound so mean.”

“He also doesn’t need to get up for another hour. You know he isn’t a morning person.”

“Like us,” Jenna said with satisfaction, leaning against her mother.

Even as she felt the familiar sting of joy and fear, Anna bent down to hug her daughter. “That’s right. So what’s it going to be? Scrambled eggs and toast, or cereal?”

“I want oatmeal,” she declared.

Instant oatmeal, with lots of sugar, cinnamon and raisins, was a current favorite. Anna made herself have a small serving, too. Yesterday morning, she’d weighed herself before showering to find she’d lost nine pounds. No wonder her face had begun to look gaunt.

After breakfast, she ran a bath for Jenna and sat with her while her little girl pretended she was a mermaid, which involved splashing half the water in the tub onto Anna and the floor. Anna laughed and played along while keeping an ear cocked for the sound of the doorbell.

She had Jenna out of the bath and wrapped in a towel before she woke up her son. He chose oatmeal, too, and when she hustled both kids out to the car, he accepted the lunch she’d packed the night before. Normally Josh took the bus, but since she needed to do a few errands, she’d decided to let him sleep a little later and drive him, instead.

Once at the elementary school, she watched until he met with friends and went inside before starting for the parking lot exit. When her phone rang, Anna braked and grabbed it from the cubby between the front seats.

Alan Lang.

Her heart drummed. This was early for him to be calling. Could he have received an offer on the house?

Please, please, please.